Get It Right
by ohwhatprovidence
Summary: You felt so privileged to be one of the few who knew the real Quinn Fabray. And now, staring at this broken creature in front of you, you're beginning to think you that you never knew Quinn Fabray at all - Spoilers up to 2x16


**A/N: The piano scene from last night, Faberry'd. I'm sure I'll be the millionth person to write this, so forgive me if you're so tired of this damn scenario by the time you read this fic. Also, ANGST. **

Quinn is sitting at the piano, plunking out a simple tune, when you finally work up the courage to enter the auditorium. You stand in the shadows of the stage for a few moments, preparing yourself for whatever might come out of this, before moving forward with your typical self-assuredness.

"You're late," she says, with an air of indifference that makes your heart ache. You still worship the ground she walks on, and she's already treating you as if your existence barely registers in her mind.

"We're friends, right?" you blurt out, without really thinking. That's probably a good thing; if you think too much about it, you're going to lose your nerve. You are literally wringing your hands, and you wonder if she can _see_ how much her presence affects you.

"Yeah, I guess so," Quinn replies coolly. She looks toward the piano and smiles a bit, but it's not out of kindness or affection; that much, you're sure of.

"I mean, like, everything happened last year?"

You watch her tense up even more than she already was, because you've crossed a boundary and broken this unspoken rule that was put in place the day Quinn left your things in a box on your doorstep and stopped returning your phone calls. It was never expressly stated that your relationship was never to be discussed again, and it's certainly not something you agreed to, but you tried for six weeks to get her to talk to you, to just tell you what happened so that you could try to fix it (you would do _anything_ to fix it), and as she grew colder and more distant, it became clear that Quinn was not interested in looking back. You eventually stopped trying to get her to acknowledge the past; it hurt too much.

"What's your point?"

"My point is…is that…" You pause and swallow, trying to quell the emotion fighting its way to the surface. "I know we haven't spent a lot of time together this year, but I thought we were close enough that we could be honest with each other."

"Go ahead," she says. "Ask me."

It's almost like she's taunting you, and you're suddenly just so _mad_. There was so much more that you had planned to say, but this confrontation is going to start unraveling if you don't get on with it. "Fine," you bite out. "Are you and Finn together?"

She hesitates, briefly, and then gives you a definitive yes. It's not like you didn't know, but you want to hear it from her. Or, you _wanted_ to hear it from her. Now that she's said it, you feel vaguely sick.

"It's been a couple of weeks," she adds, before breaking out into a humorless chuckle. "It's like Groundhog's Day with you, Rachel. How many times do you have to make the same mistake to realize it's not going to work out?"

It takes you a moment to compose yourself, and it crosses your mind that this was a bad idea. Your gaze drops to your fingernails, and it stays there. "Well, thank you for being honest with me, Quinn, and I'm happy for you and Finn, but don't go and try to rewrite history."

Your eyes meet hers now, because you have to believe that as much as she is pretending that this all means nothing, she really does care. "It was real between us," you say, fighting to keep the desperation out of your voice.

"And how long did that last for?" She tilts her head to the side, and looks at you with mock interest, a small smirk playing on her lips.

This takes you aback, truly. You've seen Quinn at her very best, when it was just the two of you in your bedroom, curled into each other on your bed and softly sharing dreams and thoughts and secrets. She was always so laidback when you were together. She was always so _gentle_. You felt so privileged to be one of the few who knew the _real_ Quinn Fabray.

And now, staring at this broken creature in front of you, you're beginning to think you that you never knew Quinn Fabray at all.

"Why are you being so mean?" you whisper. All of your confidence is gone, and you sound like a _child_. You would hate her for doing this to you, if you didn't love her so much.

She stands up from the piano and starts walking toward you. This is the closet she's been since it ended, and you have to force yourself to move away. Otherwise, you think you'd probably fall into her arms, but you don't know that she would catch you.

"Do you want to know how this story plays out?" she asks softly. You look up at her briefly, before she continues. "I get Finn, you get heartbroken, and then Finn and I stay here at start a family. I'll become a successful real estate agent and Finn will take over Kurt's dad's tire shop."

You swallow hard and blink back tears. You don't know if you can stand here and listen to her describe the future she's fantasized about if it doesn't include you.

"You don't _belong_ here, Rachel," she says, and suddenly her voice is full of emotion. "And you can't hate me for helping to send you on your way."

"I'm not giving up," you say, shaking your head. Quinn is so smart, but she's never been more wrong about anything in her entire life; you belong wherever she is. "It's not over between us."

You've struck a nerve, it seems, because before you're done speaking, Quinn's words drown yours out. "Yes, it is. You're so _frustrating_," she cries, banging her hand against the piano. "And _that_ is why you can't write a good song, because you live in this little schoolgirl fantasy of life. Rachel, if you keep looking for that happy ending, then you are _never_ going to get it right."

It's silent now, and you're staring at each other in a way that makes your heart pound and your breath come in erratic spurts. Something is going to happen if one of you doesn't step away, and you're not exactly sure what to expect until she's shoving your back against the piano with strength that leaves you breathless. She's pinning in place with her arms, as if you're not completely frozen in shock anyway.

Your lips connect with crushing force; you're not sure if you had any part in initiating it, because it happened so fast, but Quinn is definitely calling the shots now. You're certain that there will be bruises in the morning.

When your brain catches up with your body, you realize that as much as you want things to work out with Quinn, this is not the way to rekindle a relationship. You make the occasional move to end this…whatever it is…but she's always one step ahead of you, so instead, you just accept that this is going to work out however Quinn wants it to.

She's just slightly out of reach when you lean in to kiss _her_, every single time, and you know that it's a power struggle, plain and simple; a fight for dominance. And you're playing into it without a second thought.

"I'm doing all of this for you," she whispers in your ear, between heavy pants for breath. "Can you really not see that?"

"This isn't…I don't…"

You don't know what you're trying to say, but it doesn't matter because the words die on your lips when her teeth graze your collarbone.

"You'll never get it," Quinn whispers. "You'll _never_ understand, will you?"

You shake your head desperately, because you _don't_ understand. "I _love_ you," you murmur. "I love you and I don't…I don't know what…"

"_Stop_," she barks. "Stop it."

"I do, Quinn. I love you and you love me, and you _know_ it," you cry. You don't even realize that you've raised your voice until another slam of her fist on the piano jars you into sudden silence.

"You just never know when to quit, do you? You're _selfish_," she hisses, and your stomach twists violently. She pushes you harder against the instrument, and then suddenly, the pressure lets up and she's quickly widening the gap between the two of you.

Her name escapes your lips in a pleading whisper. You aren't sure what you're asking, but her answer is clear.

"So, we're done with that," she says abruptly. "Why don't we just get back to our work, okay?" She walks back toward the piano bench, sighing heavily as she sits.

It feels like all the air in your lungs has escaped in a sharp, involuntary exhale, and for a moment, all you can do is shake your head.

"No," you say softly. "I think I'm going to write this song on my own."

You refuse to give Quinn a second look as you walk briskly off the stage, squeezing your eyes shut as tears begin to cloud your vision. You've never been one to accept defeat, but as you push open the heavy auditorium doors and step into the empty hallway ahead of you, it occurs to you that you won't be able to fix this.

You're never going to get this right.


End file.
